Stranger Than Magic
by Stray Jaguar
Summary: When Detective Agatha Thomas is sent to investigate reports of an illegally enchanted Chevy Camaro, her world is once again flipped upside down as she realizes some things can't be explained even by magic. Minor crossover with Harry Potter. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter I, September 15, 3:17pm

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**CHAPTER I**

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

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_Monday, September 15, 2008... 3:17pm_

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When she was younger, Detective Agatha Thomas always had difficulties understanding the difference between a wizard's animagus form and what shape his patronus took. Both dealt with ideas of spirituality and connections with nature, and both were supposedly reflections of the soul housed within the body. While there were some people that never bothered to study either branch of magic – because they had no interest or just simply lacked the innate abilities required for them – there was a disproportionate amount of people who never took advantage of their animagus form compared to people who never learned to cast a patronus.

To become a successful animagus, one had to be completely sound of mind and body. Discovering the inner self usually took several hours of deep meditation and soul-searching. Confidence in the transformation was key. If a wizard went into it feeling too nervous or unsure, things were almost guaranteed to go horrendously wrong.

On the other hand, casting a full-fledged patronus required a great deal of emotional and magical strength. Recent studies done at one of the more prominent universities showed a link between the inability to produce a patronus and the various forms of depression. Whereas an animagus transformation became almost instinctual once learned, a patronus was something that took effort and energy each time it was performed.

The only thing the detective could not understand was why there was a difference between the two animals. For example, the police chief was a registered animagus whose form was a jaguar. However, his patronus was widely known to be a lemur.

It was this problem that had created a block in the detective's mind, and her instructor theorized it was the only thing keeping her form discovering her true animagus form.

Agatha Thomas growled, twirling her wand idly between her fingers as narrowed eyes studied the pages of the textbook before her. The department encouraged all wizards with the ability to become animagi to take full advantage of it. Successfully registering your animal form with the state came with a lovely little pay increase.

The textbook was explaining what her mind already knew. She _knew _her animagus form could be completely different from her patronus. She _knew _a patronus represented what made her feel safe, just as she _knew _the form of a patronus could change due to midlife crisis while an animgus form could not.

And yet whenever she tried to discover her animal, her brain always attempted to shift her body to match the elegant form of a tiger – the animal form her patronus had adopted. It felt indescribably _wrong_ on so many levels. Before she could even begin to correct her mistake, the spell backfired and usually ended with her being flung halfway across the room by her own magic.

There was a loud 'thud' as Agatha's forehead met the smooth oak surface of her desk.

"This sucks," she muttered to it.

Thankfully, the desk did not respond.

"Careful," a new voice said. "People might think you're crazy."

The detective tilted her head to the side and aimed a razor-sharp glare at the enchanted window hanging on the wall next to her cubicle. The skies were dark and stormy; rain pelted against the glass silently, while lightning flashed every few minutes. Maintenance – which consisted of one lonely wizard – was obviously still feeling vindictive about her refusal to date coworkers. Her window had shown nothing but terrible weather for the last two weeks, despite the truly sunny skies outside.

Sergeant Dogwood's image was leaning casually against the window frame, not bothered in the least by how quickly the rain was soaking through his clothes. Since fireplaces were rather conspicuous in what was for all intents and purposes a predominantly muggle police station, enchanted windows served in place of the floo network favored by larger precincts.

"What do you want?" Agatha asked, not bothering to raise her head from the desk.

Dogwood grinned. "You're muggleborn, right?"

"You know I am." Her tone was exasperated.

The sergeant had grown up with her eldest brother and was a close friend of the family. He was from one of the few remaining pureblooded wizarding families in the area whose lives crossed with muggle society very little. Modern technology, fashion trends, and anything else prominent in the muggle world meant nothing to them.

It was one of the main reasons the police department had been agreeable to hiring Agatha. A muggleborn witch – a minority, which was a plus for their employment statistics – made dealing with cases involving muggles much easier to handle. She was someone who had extensive knowledge of both worlds. It eliminated some of the need to work with their muggle police counterparts too extensively.

"Good, I've got a job for you," he said brightly. "Got reports of an illegally enchanted sports car on the south side of town. Suspect is a teenage male by the name of Samuel Witwicky, parents are Ronald and Judith Witwicky. The file should be arriving momentarily."

On cue, a paper airplane zipped down the hall and landed neatly on her open textbook. Agatha sat up, tapping the airplane with her wand, and waited as it unfolded itself into a large manila envelope. She opened the file, not waiting for the wrinkles to finish straightening themselves out, and began to read.

"All right, boss," she muttered, her lips quirking in a grin, "I'll get right on it."

"Tell your mom I said hi!" And with that, he disappeared.

Agatha delved into the file, grateful to have something to distract her from the frustrating process of becoming an animagus. Seventeen years old, brown hair, brown eyes... Samuel Witwicky was unremarkable in virtually every manner. The file didn't say if he were muggle or wizard, but since a wand registration form was not attached and his school records were from the muggle public education system, it was probably safe to say the boy didn't have a magical bone in his body.

According to the anonymous informant, the car in question was a canary yellow Chevy Camaro with black racing stripes. It had been seen driving itself, opening and closing the family's garage door unaided, and had a peculiar talent of holding an intelligent conversation using what was believed to be sound bites from the boy's iPod.

A glance at her watch told her it was half past three. School was more than likely over for the day. If Mr Witwicky was truly a muggle, the situation needed to be investigated more thoroughly. There might be more to deal with than just a sentient vehicle.

Agatha stood up from her desk with a grimace. Obliviating people was never an enjoyable experience. To modify a person's memory – especially that of a muggle – according to law standards, the old information couldn't just disappear. _Removing _memories created variously sized holes in the victim's recollection, making it obvious to them that something was wrong.

Obliviation was an art form, really. Memories had to be coaxed, perceptions needed twisting, and information was either to be camouflaged or buried. It took above average levels of creativity to successfully manipulate a person's mind, which was something the detective felt she didn't have.

Thankfully, muggles were easier to fool than wizards.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

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**I don't own Harry Potter or Transformers or any concepts either series may encompass. This has been written for my sole entertainment in an attempt to explore the subjects of: how magic effects electricity and vise versa, interspecies relations, the difference between a wizard from the United States and one from the United Kingdom, and just how exactly does one become an animagus.


	2. Chapter I, September 15, 3:55pm

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**CHAPTER I**

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

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_Monday, September 15, 2008... 3:55pm_

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Like all organic life forms, humans emitted a continuous electromagnetic field. Everything from the tiniest movements to the largest gestures could be sensed through that field, as long as the right sort of equipment used. Heart rate, quickness of breath, and shifting from one foot transmitted themselves easily. By monitoring those three things, it was easy to tell when a human was nervous, lying, or getting ready to fire one of their primitive weapons.

Since humans were such small creatures, however, it was only logical that they broadcast weak fields. Detecting those telltale signs was a more difficult task when a heartbeat felt no different from the soft impact of a single raindrop. Living amongst a large population of them was only a minor annoyance, like static over a radio station. If they began to feel truly bothered by people's mere presence, they only had to decrease the awareness of their sensors.

Therefore, when Bumblebee's sensors picked up on a human wandering around outside the garage whose electromagnetic field could rival that of his own, he assumed it was simply a glitch in his system. Humans could not produce such powerful broadcasts. The laws of physics just didn't allow for it.

Convinced there was no danger to his ward, the yellow mech relaxed on his tires and went back to sifting through the information waste heap known as the world wide web. He had to do _something _to pass the time, after all.


	3. Chapter I, September 20, 11:10am

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**CHAPTER I**

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

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_Saturday, September 20, 2008... 11:10am_

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The strange adult female was prowling around the house again. Although she never set foot on his ward's property, it was abundantly clear whose humans she was watching.

She had been loitering outside the premises for nearly a week now. Bumblebee was careful to remain in alt mode at all times since she often appeared unexpectedly and undetected. How she managed to pass unnoticed by his sensors was a complete mystery; either there was more wrong with them than he originally thought or something very strange was happening. The longer he 'watched' her, the chances of the latter option being correct rose exponentially.

Firstly, just because he could _sense _the female did not mean he could _see_ her. There was one afternoon she had been standing across the street and the next minute, she simply wasn't. Switching to infrared revealed her walking toward the garage, though she had somehow become invisible in standard viewing mode.

Secondly, he often witnessed her speaking to a large, predatory bird whose electromagnetic field was even greater than hers. Bumblebee had no proof or logical explanation, but he was almost positive the creature was not actually a bird. According to several reliable resources, that particular species of avian was not capable of the levels of intelligence it frequently exhibited. It responded to her questions and interacted with her in a manner ordinary birds would not, such as shaking its head and pointing withs it wing as though it were really a finger.

His humans never appeared to notice her, and Bumblebee did not wish to alarm them by informing them of her presence. Several opportunities for harming the Witwickys had already been presented. None of them were taken. Until she was deemed to be a threat, Bumblebee would keep her existence to himself.


	4. Chapter I, September 22, 6:57pm

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**CHAPTER I**

Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

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_Monday, September 22, 2008... 6:57pm_

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After a full week of observing the Witwicky household, Agatha was convinced none of them were magical in any way. The wards typically applied to a wizard's dwelling were obviously missing, and Ronald was painfully oblivious to the gnome infestation developing in the back corner of his precious yard.

The car almost never moved from its home in the garage outside of Samuel driving it to and from school. At first, she hadn't been sure if the vehicle was really enchanted or not, but after catching the boy talking to it on several occasions, she felt inclined to believe it was bewitched. There was also a small incident involving a scratch on the passenger side door. A careless student had swiped the Camaro with her own car door while leaving the school on an open period, and before school let out, the scratch somehow repaired itself.

Agatha swiped a stray lock of hair from her eyes and rang the doorbell. Immediately, a dog began to bark in highly pitched yelps from inside.

"Mojo," a muffled voice hissed. "Mojo – quiet!"

The door flung open, abruptly shut before a yapping chihuaha could pelt itself at her leg, and then opened again a few moments later. Samuel Witwicky stuck his head out the door.

"Can I help you?" he asked. His voice was quick and unsmiling, despite the nervous quirk of his lips, though the detective did not get the impression he was unfriendly.

She flashed her muggle police badge at him. "Samuel Witwicky?"

A few interesting things happened in the span of about two seconds; the boy's face paled drastically and he shot a frantic look over his right shoulder – toward the garage, Agatha noted – before fixing a very fake smile on his lips and nodding at her.

"I'm Detective Agatha Thomas," she replied, acting as though nothing was wrong, "I need to speak with your parents. Are they home?"

"Uh, well, no." The boy winced and changed his mind. "I mean yes! Yes, they are home... my mom is..."

"Sam, honey?"

"Mom! The door's for you!" he hollered. He opened the door further, clearly reluctant to let the police officer in, and stepped aside.

It was only as she walked across the threshold did Agatha see the struggling Mojo clenched in the crook of Samuel's arm. The little dog was growling quietly at her. She poked him with a modified stunner. If Sam noticed the small exchange between his dog and Agatha, he certainly didn't show it.

The teen's cell phone began to play an annoying little jingle. From the way he flipped it open and punched at the buttons, she figured it was probably a text message. His eyes flicked nervously from her to the garage again.

High-heeled shoes clacked on hardwood floors as Judith Witwicky entered the foyer. She was in the middle of drying wet hands with a towel. The smile on her face was pleasant enough, until Agatha began to introduce herself as a police detective; her eyes first widened and then narrowed, she glanced suspiciously at her son, and then immediately began asking what he and 'that _car'_ had been getting up to now.

"Mom!" Sam exclaimed, his tone an amusing mix of accusation and betrayal. "We haven't done anything – "

"It's interesting that you should mention your son's car," Agatha cut in. "Look, Mrs Witwicky, neither of you are in trouble. I'm here to investigate reports of a stolen vehicle, and your son's car fits the description perfectly." She gave herself a mental pat on the back for quick thinking. "I know your son didn't steal it, but it's looking more and more like the dealership he purchased it from did. Can you help me out? I just need to ask you a few questions."

Sam's cell phone began to jingle again. He ignored it. He and his mother seemed to be locked in a staring contest.


	5. Chapter I, September 22, 7:00pm

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**CHAPTER I  
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Fantasy, Meet Science Fiction

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_Monday, September 22, 2008... 7:00pm_

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Bumblebee finally had a name to put with the mysterious female. A quick internet search proved nearly fruitless since Agatha Thomas was a fairly common name in the United States of America. The only thing he could find that was certainly about her was the woman's personal Facebook page, which gave him little information beyond basic things he suspected anyone who casually associated with her would know.

With his sensors turned up to the max, he paid close attention to the situation unraveling within the Witwicky house. The conversation only seemed to get more alarming by the minute; it didn't help matters that each text message he sent to Sam's cell phone went unanswered.

She began to ask standard questions – questions he would have expected any police officer investigating a stolen vehicle to ask. "How much did you pay for the car?"

Three thousand dollars, Bumblebee silently replied.

"Has your son put much work into the car?"

Naturally, Sam's response was an affirmative; there was no other plausible way to explain how he spent such a small amount on a vehicle that should have cost several thousand. When his ward was asked what all had been replaced or repaired, however, the mech's processor froze. Everything Sam knew about mechanics was secondhand from Mikaela, and the two of them spent very little of their time talking about cars.

"Well, that is to say, uh..." The boy fumbled for an answer. "My girlfriend – her dad's a mechanic. She knows a lot about cars..."

The detective caught on to what he was trying to say quickly. "So you're saying your girlfriend and her father have been the ones to perform any work...?"

"Yes!"

"Did you compensate them?"

Sam's mother cut in before the question could be answered. "Detective, just what do these questions have to do with your investigation?"

"Sorry, Mrs Witwicky," Detective Thomas said, not sounding terribly apologetic. "It's all part of the process."

"Look, Detective, we don't know anything about where Mr Bolivia got 'Bee --"

Bumblebee groaned. He loved Sam, but sometimes the boy was a complete idiot.

There was a pause before the detective spoke. "You named your car 'Bee'?"

"Well, I didn't name him that! I, uh... I mean, he came that way."

"Did Mr Bolivia give him that name, then?" she asked, her tone colored with incredulity.

"No! I mean yes. Yes, he did."

"Interesting." There was another long pause. "I would like to take a look at the car, if that's okay with you."

His spark froze. This woman was not normal. While he was almost sure she meant the Witwicky family no harm, the same could not be said for him. It was becoming quite apparent he was the only thing she was interested in, and no matter how he looked at it, allowing her to take a closer look at his alt form would only lead to disaster. Whether or not she knew his true nature was a complete mystery, though she obviously suspected something was amiss.

Predictably, both Sam and Mrs Witwicky objected to allowing the detective anywhere near him. Even more predictable, however, was the response to their refusal.

"Mrs Witwicky," the strange woman began, her words frosty, "it has been clear to me since I first walked in that you and your son are hiding something from me and that his car is somehow involved. Either you can let me look at it now, or I will gladly come back with a search warrant – it's completely up to you."

"Sam, let her look at the car."

"Mom! No!"

"Sam, please..."

Bumblebee sat frozen in the garage as multiple footsteps made their way through the house towards the back door. Her field washed over him, suffocating and dangerous, and he wished fervently for a way to escape without being too obvious.

As soon as the three humans entered the garage, everything went wrong.

First, the detective took out what looked like a stick and began to _throw _her magnetic field around the room. His sensors went haywire as it reformed itself through the stick like malleable clay in the hands of a master sculptor. Like fuzz on a television set, Bumblebee lost some external sensitivity as her presence filled the garage, settling into every crack and crevice in a fine layer of dust.

Neither Sam nor Mrs Witwicky noticed anything wrong, to the yellow mech's horror. They entered behind the detective and stood next to the wall, allowing her to weave her strange technology into the very air without so much as a peep. An unusually sedate Mojo gave a feeble growl, but that was it.

She walked around him in a slow circle, inspecting every detail her human eyes were capable of noticing (though Bumblebee seriously doubted this woman allowed mere physics to stand in her way). When she grabbed the handle of the driver's door with a surprisingly gentle grip, a jolt of static rolled through his system in wave. Her soft, organic body tingled unpleasantly against the pseudo-leather of his seats, and he had to suppress a shiver.

"What's this?" she asked. Her small finger was tracing the symbol on his steering wheel.

For once, Sam had a good answer. "It's my girlfriend's symbol. You know, so people will recognize her work."

Thankfully, the detective left it at that.

But then she tried to use her stick on Bumblebee. With a surprised shriek, she was thrown onto the cold, dirty concrete of the garage floor. Sam rushed forward to help the detective to her feet, while his nervous mother wrung her hands together.

Not caring about the consequences, Bumblebee slammed his door shut and locked it with more force than strictly necessary. That had been an incredibly unpleasant experience, one he was _not _eager to have again. His speakers thrummed to life: _"Punkbitch! I just want you to know – punkbitch!" _

"What the hell!" Detective Thomas exclaimed as she regained her feet.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know --"

She whirled on Sam. "Didn't know what? That your car is fully animated?"

Bumblebee took full pleasure in hearing her disbelief and anger.

"I knew that – I didn't know he would --"

The detective held up a hand, and Sam fell silent.

"Sam... tell me the truth here. I'm not going to arrest you, I'm not going to do anything. This is off the record, got it?"

The teenager nodded slowly. Mrs Witwicky moved away from the wall. Bumblebee waited, ready to spring on the detective if needed.

"Are you a wizard?" she asked quietly.

"What kind of question is that?" he laughed. "I know this must be a little freaky, but Detective, magic isn't real."

Bumblebee could hear the grim smile in her voice as she responded. "I'm afraid you're wrong."

He felt it milliseconds before it happened; her magnetic field fluctuated slightly, the muscles in her arm twitched, and she began to channel all that energy into what he had come to realize was a wand. Without a second thought, the yellow mech initiated his transformation sequence, shuffling the program to form his limbs first.

A strange cry – "Obliviate!" – rang from her lips as she flicked her wand. Energy lanced from its tip like a bullet, aimed straight for Sam's head, and before it could even make contact her field began to fluctuate again with clear intentions to do the same to Mrs Witwicky.

Detective Thomas jumped back in surprise as a gigantic metal hand crashed down centimeters in front of her targets. The energy hit his palm and dispersed into the air like a spray of water, sending another unpleasant jolt through his system but leaving him unharmed. Her eyes were wide as they traveled up his forearm and to his face, taking in the whole of his crouched mechanical body.

Bumblebee aimed a canon at her and made his intentions crystal clear: try that again, and you're toast.

He didn't blame her for fainting.


	6. Chapter II, September 23, 3:45am

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**CHAPTER II**

Getting Acquainted

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_Tuesday, September 23, 2008... 3:45am_

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The wooden casing of the wand had been painstakingly crafted from a species of Earth plant called _salix matsudana_, more commonly known amongst humans as the Chinese Willow. It was an uninteresting brown color and was polished to a high shine. Despite signs of regular maintenance, however, fingerprints from frequent use had worn the base into a duller shade.

It had a diameter of slightly less than an inch, while it was nearly ten inches in length. Nobody knew or could seem to find out if this was a standard wand size or if measurements were unique to each wand. In fact, there was no factual information readily available about magic. Humans themselves considered it to be a myth.

The substance inside the wand could only be identified as organic in nature. Optimus refused to let them crack the casing open in an attempt to visually identify it.

The wand itself did not seem to have any powers; rather, it was simply a conduit for Detective Thomas' energy. It did not react to either a cybertronian or another human's touch, which led them to believe it was somehow coded to accept only one person.

Ratchet imitated a sigh – a habit he had quickly picked up amongst the humans of NEST – and stared down at his newest patient.

Agatha Thomas was almost as much of an enigma as the foreign substance inside her wand. Extensive scans showed nothing wrong with the woman beyond the mild concussion indirectly caused by Bumblebee. While it was nice to see a human operating in optimal condition for once, it was extremely odd. The woman was approximately thirty-two years old, yet none of her systems had begun to show the usual signs of degradation present in other humans in her age group.

There was no apparent cause for the smothering presence of her electromagnetic field. He was going to take a blood sample once she woke up. Perhaps taking a closer look her genetic coding would shed some light on the unique situation they found themselves in. The only reason he had not already done so was because of Optimus' insistence that the blood be taken with her permission.

Until this mess was figured out, only one thing was for certain: Agatha Thomas and her wand could not be allowed to leave the base.


	7. Chapter II, September 23, 10:15am

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**CHAPTER II**

Getting Acquainted

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_Tuesday, September 23, 2008... 10:15am_

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The interviewer – a nameless man in a nondescript black suit – crumpled to the ground without a peep, his face frozen in a strange mixture of horror and amazement. The full body bind would ensure his silence as well as an inability to give chase. Squelching the uneasy feeling developing in the pit of her stomach, Agatha armed herself with a few standard stealth spells before slipping out of the room with a muttered 'alohomora'.

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"Please state your name for the record."

"Agatha Lynn Thomas."

"And what is your occupation, Agatha?"

"I'm a detective for the Tranquility police department."

"Why don't you tell us a little bit about yourself."

"Just ask your questions. This isn't a video submission for 'The Bachelor'."

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Her footsteps were muted by magic as she sprinted across the catwalk. The pair of soldiers milling around at the bottom of the stairs never knew what was coming. Two body-binding curses were thrown at them in rapid succession. Their guns dropped to the ground next to them with a clatter.

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"All right, detective, calm down. We'll start off with where you grew up. Can you tell us about your childhood?"

"Yes, I can."

"Okay, Thomas... would you please tell us about your childhood?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Detective. The better you cooperate with me, the sooner this interview is over. Now, please..."

"Fine. I was born on January 1, 1976. My family has lived in or outside of Tranquility for my entire life. I went through the public school system. Anything else you wanna know?"

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And there it was – another mechanical monster, just like Witwicky's Camaro. Seeing the Hummer as soon as she rounded the corner had pins prickling up and down her arms, but the moment it just stood up and unfolded into a bipedal masterpiece of machinery chilled her to the bone. It wasn't magic – she didn't know what it was, and that was probably the thing that scared her most.

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"What schools in particular did you attend?"

"Emerson Elementary, Tranquility Junior High, and then Tranquility Senior High."

"Any extracurricular activities?"

"I fail to see what recreational sports have to do with this discussion." It was an answer, albeit a very indirect one.

"Just answer the question, detective."

"Look, if my childhood is a matter of national security, this government is way more fucked up than I thought it was. I refuse to say anything else until I speak with my superiors."

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Without stopping to think, Agatha summoned the most powerful Light spell she knew and cast it at what she assumed to be the giant's ankle. A silvery figure streaked out from the tip of her wand with a roar; once, twice, three times her tiger patronus struck at the machine, but nothing happened.

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"Your superiors already know about your containment. You have been temporarily suspended from duty."

"What! You've got to be kidding!"

"My people contacted the department – "

"You fucking bastard, you're bluffing – "

"Would you like to contact Sergeant Dogwood and ask him yourself?"

"...no."

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Great booming footsteps rattled her. Again and again the tiger lashed out, but to no avail. She was surrounded on all sides by looming mechanical monsters. Hexes and jinxes did absolutely nothing to damage them. Knocking out the interviewer and the two soldiers had been bad enough without throwing any illegal spells into the mix. The boy – Sam – walked slowly toward her from between the ankles of the big blue and red one, his hands held up in the universal sign of peace. Agatha knew she didn't stand a chance; she surrendered.

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"Can you tell me what this is?"

"It looks like a stick."

"Yes, but I think one would be hard-pressed to find a stick nearly as perfect as this when wandering through the woods. Please, detective... I'm not stupid. What is this?"

"It could be a baton."

"I know you know what this. Now, I'm losing my patience with you. This is the last time I'll ask nicely – what is this?"

"PETRIFICUS TOTALIS!"


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